He fucked her, swallowing every moan with his tongue and mouth, until she shook beneath him, exploding with her second orgasm. Her walls tightened around him, and he slammed into her once, twice, groaning loudly before coming hard inside her. And it felt like…sweet fucking ecstasy.
Better than any drug he’d ever had.
*
She stayed there, her warm naked body pressed against his. Her head rested on his chest, and she traced the tattoos over his abdomen, sighing lightly every now and again. He felt peaceful and euphoric, still on cloud nine from his sexual release and still in the company of a woman who looked very much like what his dream girl would.
“Do you take a lot of girls home like this?” she suddenly asked him.
Marcus opened his eyes, smirking. “Is that your roundabout way of calling me a manwhore?”
She tensed. “Oh, my God, no. I’m sorry. I guess…I don’t usually do this. Actually, I’ve never done it, and I know it’s none of my business, but I was just curious if I’m…you know, if I’m just another one of those girls to you.”
“No, you’re not,” he simply answered, and for once that was incredibly true.
He didn’t want to expand, mostly because he never revisited his past lays. What’s done is done, after all. But women were different, he supposed. Perhaps it wasn’t very easy for them to bury their sexual encounters the way a lot of men did. They were sentimental creatures. They didn’t want to know that they would be forgotten. They wanted a place in a man’s soul the way the stars had a place in the skies.
Kate didn’t press for more answers, and when the minutes passed, he squeezed her gently and said, “So tell me about yourself.”
He felt her smile against his chest. “What do you want to know?”
“What are your hobbies? What are you studying? What’s your life like?”
“I’m that artsy-fartsy person you roll your eyes at.”
“I’m doubtful you have one pretentious bone in your body, babe.”
She laughed lightly. “Well, people think that way when I go on and on about art. See, the problem is I think I see beauty in all things, and I try to recreate that.”
“Do you paint or draw?”
“A little. I do a lot of sketches, mostly. Just in a stupid notebook I carry around. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Marcus frowned at the way she brushed it off. “I’m curious to know why you dive straight into rubbishing your work.”
She tapped her fingers along his chest in thought and sighed. “I was brought up to stay away from creative arts. My father calls it a waste of time, and he used to get angry when I told him I wanted to pursue art after high school.”
“He sounds like a dick.”
She laughed again. “He’s a micromanager, and he means well, I know that. But he’s also a judge and he’s scary as hell to most people. Anyway, I’m kind of bumbling around right now. I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve taken a bunch of classes in Biological sciences, but it’s nothing to get the heart pumping over.”
“If it’s not your passion, it will never get your heart pumping.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, despondently. “You’re right. Life’s hard. I mean, I know I have more than most, but it’s still hard trying to make another person happy and losing yourself in the process. Anyways, I won’t go all philosophical on you or anything.”
“You mean artsy-fartsy on me.”
“Yeah,” she chuckled. “That.”
“I like it.”
That just made her sag further into him, and he could see himself hearing her talk like this all the time, though it was silly to even think about.
“Let me know a little about you,” she then said. “I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know.”
He held up a few of her long silky strands, letting it run between his fingers as he thought about what to say. Was there even a way to positively answer that?
“Nothing really to know,” he settled with quietly. “I’m just a normal guy on the other side of the tracks.”
She didn’t need to hear about his abusive father, and his uncaring mother. Or the fact he’d been kicked out of his home at fifteen with nothing but a backpack and a bag of M&Ms. Or that poverty had him turning to street crime just so he could rub a few pennies together for a hot meal. Now his life had been hard, but he didn’t care much to explore it out loud to a girl that would probably never understand that, and he hoped she’d never have to.
She didn’t pry for a better response, and he appreciated that. Kate seemed to respect boundaries, and fuck, he wanted her to break them down instead. She changed subjects, and he listened to her sweet voice, offering responses just to hear her talk. They spoke for what felt like hours, and then her words trailed off, and she fell asleep in his arms.
Three
Marcus
A nudge on his shoulder stirred him awake. He opened his eyes slowly and stared up at Kate in the dark. She was standing beside the edge of the couch, completely dressed and holding her purse with one hand.
“Sorry to wake you, but I have no way of getting home,” she told him. “I was hoping you’d drop me off.”
He inhaled sharply and looked around in search of a clock. “What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
Fucking hell, it was way too early. “I’ll drop you off in a bit, babe. How about you lay down with me for a while first and we’ll grab some breakfast once we’re out?”
Her hands nervously tugged at the strap of her purse. “I’d love breakfast with you and all but…I can’t stay. My father is meant to come around at seven for our ritual Sunday breakfast, and if he finds out I’m not there…” she paused and sighed.
“What happened to not caring tonight?” he replied light-heartedly.
She didn’t smile in return. Instead, her nerves grew. “I can just take a bus then, or something. I won’t make you get up, that’s not fair of me, and it’s so early –”
“Fuck no,” he interrupted, sitting up now and rubbing at his tired eyes. “I’m just kidding. Not gonna have a girl like you riding public transport on this side of town. I’ll get my keys and we’ll go.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, Marcus. I appreciate it.”